


if you like it (shoulda put a ring on it)

by VolxdoSioda



Series: IgCor Week 2019 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: IgCor Day 3: Fake Relationship, Implied/Attempted Sexual Assault, M/M, nothing graphic gets shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: In which Cor attempts to be a good man, fake-marries Ignis for assault charges, and then has to actually follow through when the news hits Insomnia.Turns out people love a good secret romance.





	if you like it (shoulda put a ring on it)

When the knock on his door happens at 3 AM, Cor is asleep on the couch. He almost doesn’t hear it; it’s years of training that have him opening his eyes and cautiously sitting up and listening. Then he hears the shuffling outside the door, and he’s on his feet.

Of all the things to find on his doorstep, Ignis Scientia, glasses missing, hair askew, red puffy eyes and clothes disheveled, clutching a jacket around his shoulders like it’s the only lifeline he has is not one of them. The sight alone brings alarm bells ringing through Cor’s head, but the young man’s following words, uttered in barely more than a whisper, only solidify that bad feeling.

“I beg your pardon for the time, Marshal, but… I couldn’t think of anyone else to go to about this.”

Cor has always been a protector. A protector of the Crown, of the King, and his Prince. That protection extends itself beyond just King and court, and he steps back and opens the door. 

“Come inside,” he offers softly. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. Are you hungry?”

Ignis’ shoulders slump in relief, and he steps inside the apartment as if he fears dirtying it - an impossibility. Cor closes the door behind him, turns on a light, and gestures him to sit. His old kettle is thrown onto the stove with haste, his strongest tea blend pulled down, and within moments he has two piping hot cups of steeping tea sitting on the desk between them. Ignis stares into their depths as if he’s trying to find an answer.

When at last he speaks, his words bring a sliver of ice into Cor’s gut.

“Some months ago, I was… approached… by a group of young men in Crownsguard uniforms. Younger trainees, I believed at the time. One of them offered to buy me a drink, and get to know me better. I declined.”

Cor doesn’t dare breathe. Doesn’t move. His mind is screaming because he knows what he is being told - he’s heard these stories a hundred and one times, and yet something in him keeps screaming  _ not Ignis, not Ignis, please not Ignis.  _

“Then, several weeks after that, I was approached again. Again, offered drinks, and companionship. The same person. I declined. Except this time, my words were met with laughter. I was told I needed to ‘drop the frigid act and act my proper station’.”

Rage seizes Cor so tightly for a moment he can’t do anything other than close his eyes and count. The sole tether keeping him from raging is the reminder that Ignis is vulnerable. 

“I told him I was, ordered him to remove himself from my presence, and that if he bothered me again, I would bring him before the Crown for harassment.”

_ Good boy,  _ Cor thinks savagely.  _ Drag his ass in front of Regis.  _

“And then tonight. I...I put my drink down. Just a moment, hardly more than a handful of seconds.”

Cor closes his eyes.  _ Brace for impact,  _ he thinks.

“I must thank you, Marshal. Without your lessons on common drugs and circulating hazards in areas like clubs, I likely wouldn’t be before you now.” Ignis takes in a deep breath. “I woke to the same group of men trying to get my clothes off in the back room of the club. I admit here and now I used violence - my knives - to put distance between us. I know I severely cut at least one of them on their brachial artery, and sliced another on his leg. I ran.”

“You came here.”

“Yes. I apolo--”

“Good.”

Ignis pauses. Looks at Cor.

Cor’s face must be a terrible thing, for Ignis to flinch so badly. Yet he can’t find himself to care. “You did as I instructed you, back when you and Noctis were barely up to my knee. You protected yourself - I don’t give a damn if you hurt any of them in that attempt. You kept yourself safe, and you’ve found help. Now I’m going to deal with it.”

“Can you, though?” Ignis laughs hollowly. “The man who assaulted me, who threatened me, is the son of Councilman Everstone.”

“Do you really think something so small is going to stop me?” Cor asks, standing, and pulling pillow and blankets from the linen closet. “Do you think for even a moment I’m not going to wring their necks over this?”

“You’ll get into trouble.”

“Then let the trouble come.” He plops pillow down, and folds the blanket over the side of the couch. “You’ll stay here tonight. In the morning, I’ll tackle Everstone myself. And then we’re going to file a restraining order and assault charges through the Crownsguard, and bring it before Regis.”

And Regis, he knows with a touch of malicious glee, is going to want Everstone’s fucking balls, head, and heart before the day is over. Ignis is the closest person anyone has ever gotten to a second son to that man, and much the same for Clarus. To hear that some punks decided to try to do what they did to Ignis? There’s going to be so much blood in the water by the time he’s done.

“You are too kind, sir. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“You aren’t disturbing me, Ignis. I would have been  _ disturbed  _ if I’d learned later that you hid this and tried to tackle it on your own.” He reaches out, and gently smooths a few stray hairs from Ignis’ brow. To his surprise, Ignis lets him, almost seeming to melt into the touch. It makes him wonder if anyone has ever touched this brilliant man in tenderness before, rather than for some purpose or another. 

He dismisses the thought. “Get some rest, if you can. There’s more tea in the kitchen if you want it, or if you decide your peckish, the fridge is open to you. Just clean up any messes you make, and I’ll consider it square.”

Ignis offers him a small smile, already seeming to melt into Cor’s couch. “Thank you,” he offers one last time, and then folds the pillow under his head, flips the blanket over himself, and closes his eyes.

Cor hits the lights, and retreats to his room. In his gut, a fire burns.

He will make this right.

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“What do you mean,  _ I can’t petition on behave of Ignis Scientia for a fucking assault charge?!” _

Ignis has turned to stone behind him. His expression, perfect. His breathing, perfect. He would make a very pretty golem, except for the part where he’s being dragged through the fucking mud because he isn’t  _ old blood,  _ and Everstone apparently is fine with his son committing casual rape against  _ the commons. _

The rest of the council only see a lone boy ganging up on one of their own. And they’ve reacted like a flock of geese, flaring up and screaming.

“We have no proof that these  _ allegations  _ thought up by the young mister Scientia are truthful,” one tuts, and Cor wants to rip his fucking eyes out for looking at Ignis so disdainfully. “If you were bring us reasonable evidence, we would, of course, be happy to write up the full charges. Yet even then, I think a more appropriate response would be delegation, rather than punishment. So young Everstone had a glass of wine or two more than he should have. The lad seems fine to me. Look! He’s standing there, isn’t he?”

_ Breathe Cor,  _ he chants to himself. Above on the throne, Regis’ lips are a thin white line. His word is law, but even the King is bound by his own rules. 

And Mors made it fucking  _ hard  _ for rape victims to bring forth any kind of charges without evidence backing it. The old fucks sitting here now have only blocked the way more with talk of  _ royal blood.  _ Cor wants to kill them all.

“So you see, there is nothing we will, can, or should do. Bring us evidence of this supposed assault, and we will--”

The rest of the words are drowned out as Cor’s mind goes into overdrive. There are several other ways he can petition, but all of them would be far too lengthy, far too painful for someone like Ignis to endure.

So instead, he’ll take the direct route. The most effective way - an older way, one that requires enough pull in the reputation department, and a ring on someone’s finger, but…

For Ignis, Cor will do it.

He takes a deep breath, and then says, “Let me try this again, then. I will not petition for Ignis Scientia as Cor Leonis, Marshal of the Crownsguard.”

He looks Everstone dead in the eye, and says, “I’ll petition as Cor Leonis, husband of Ignis Scientia-Leonis. And if you deny my charges, I’ll petition for charges of casual treason and abuse of Council authority alongside rape.”

The room goes completely silent. For a moment, Cor expects someone to call his bluff. Someone to laugh and say  _ you didn’t marry him. _

Instead, there is an audible gulp from several people in the room. Instead, Regis says, gently, “Cor. Ignis. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Ignis has always been perfect at acting. He knows his way around people, the way to weave expressions and movements together with words to create the perfect harmony, to cast the correct way to lie to make others believe him.

Cor expects him to run from the thought of marriage. Instead, he lifts his chin and says earnestly, “The age gap tends to turn most people’s nose up.”

Regis sighs. “Cor.”

“I won’t apologize.”

“At least tell me I get a do-over wedding?”

“No.”

“Cor.”

Clarus glares at him. “You owe us, Leonis. You walked down the aisle without telling us? That’s low, even for you.”

_ That’s because I haven’t actually walked down the aisle.  _ For Ignis, he can pretend though. He’s had relationships before - he can pretend he and Ignis have been married for at least a year, and kept it secret.

“When--” Everstone’s face is palid, sweat dripping down his temples. “When would you like the charges filed, master Scientia-Leonis?”

“Immediately,” Ignis says softly. “Without delay.”

“We will need proof of marriage to validate your claim,” one says. “A copy of the certificate of marriage will suffice. Can you have it today?”

Monica’s done a lot of things for him over the years. But he gets the feeling this is what’s going to cast him into the hole. He catches Ignis’ eye, and says, “You remember where it is, love?”

Ignis nods, not even pausing at the nickname. “Of course. I can ask Monica to fetch it and copy it. We can fax the copy here.”

“Fifteen minutes at most, you think?”

“Twenty-five, far likelier. That copier’s been on the fritz lately.”

“Twenty five it is.” Cor turns to the assembled members of Council. “Half an hour, and you’ll have your certificate.”

_ And hopefully,  _ Cor thinks as they go into recess, and both he and Ignis stride towards Monica’s office, not daring to look at each other.  _ A chance to think of a way to make this look natural. _

“I’m sorry, Ignis,” he says only once they’re behind closed doors. “I--”

“Please don’t apologize,” Ignis begs. “If this is the only way--”

“There were others, but they would have taken too long. I figured you would appreciate speed over all else.”

“I do. I just… the marriage. How deep does it need to go?”

“Not far. We get the certificate, get the charges going, wait two weeks, and then we can say something broke us up. If anyone asks, it was a whirlwind romance. We got in over our heads. Or we fell out of love. Something.”

Ignis nods. “Yes, that’s doable. Young people are known for their flaky personalities. We can just say it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m constantly on the move, you’re never at home, it wasn’t a good fit.”

“Precisely.”

Plan of attack made, they go to beg Monica for her assistance.

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


The plan gets torn to shreds less than a day later, when word of the “marriage” spreads, and suddenly there’s a picture of them coming out of the Citadel together on the front page of a gossip article, large print words reading  **_Secret Marriage of Immortal Marshal and King’s Hand!_ **

Cor stares at the article over his first cup of coffee, and he doesn’t even think about lying or faking a breakup. Instead, he reaches for the phone and dials a number.

_ “Cor?” _

“I believe I now owe you a date.”

_ “Very well. Any particular locale?” _

“You up for quiet dining at the Trellis?”

_ “That sounds delightful, actually.” _

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

_ “I’ll see you then, dear.” _

Cor laughs as he hangs up. Six, what a mess.

“What is the world coming to when you can’t even fake a marriage without people spreading gossip about it anymore?”


End file.
